The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

In my mid-30s. I took up triathlons. I swam distance from age group to college and ran 10Ks and marathons. I rode a bike as a kid, so how hard could it be?

Well, my first race I’m out the water in the top three, hop on the bike and away I go. Within a mile, I learned it’s harder than it looks. Guys were going past me like I was standing still. So I find a bike shop, get a better bike, join their group rides and try to improve.

Gave up running a while back, but kept up the cycling—there’s an organized ride from the shop every Saturday, I go solo on Sunday. There’s three groups: under 16, 16–18, and 18–20. You hang with whatever group you can for as long as you can or cut it off early. The goal is to be back around two hours before traffic gets too dangerous.

The group rides are amiable, social competition; you can challenge yourself as much as you want or are able. And it’s way more aerobic than golf.

In mid-May, Johnny, the neighbor at the head of the cul-de-sac, stopped by with a 20 something fellow in tow. He introduced Ian as Sharon’s son, a grad student in DC and summer visitor/thesis researcher who was in town until mid-August—an innocent victim of lease issues. Ian tolerated the dig and rendered a firm handshake. Turns out Ian rides, Johnny mentioned me, and so after a quick briefing to confirm he would fit (experience, equipment, pace) an invitation was issued for an 0645 departure on Saturday.

He was ready on time. A brief once over told me he was a serious rider: Pearl Izumi bibs with a pro style jersey (skin tight). As I got out he was putting his heart monitor on and lubricating the ‘hot spots’ a/k/a the nipples.

“You chafe?” I asked, coming around to get his bike.

“Yeah,” he said. “The price of using the monitor.”

“What do you use?” I asked. “I sweat with enthusiasm and mine get irritated from the salt. I use Chap-Stick.”

“I made up my own solution,” he said. “Lift your jersey; I’ve still got some on my fingers.”

So in microseconds I run the gamut of ‘stay away you creep’ to ‘oh gee no thanks’ to ‘call his bluff’.

“OK—here,” I said, lifting the jersey.

He grasped my ribs with his thumbs against my nipples. He rubbed them up and down and then in circles three time before dropping his hands.

“I think this is where you tuck a dollar bill in my waistband,” I chuckled.

“You’re dating yourself Mr. Rone, costs a lot more these days.”

“Wouldn’t know,” I said. “My last experience was the Philippines, a long, long time ago.”

“Well, you do have decent breasts, so I’m sure you’d make more. Johnny said you were a serious swimmer.”

Pulling my jersey down, “yeah, when I can; depends on travel.”

My nipples started to heat up and tingle a bit.

“What is that stuff?’ I asked.

“It’s a Carmex and Campho-Phenique mixture mainly. Lubricates, numbs and has a little zing to let you know it’s working. Got it from a pharmacist friend,” he said.

“Well, it’s working,” I said as I secured his bike to the truck bed.

“Yeah, that’s what LL Mothers say when you tell them it stings,” he chuckled.

The ride when well. We stayed with the 18-20mph folks. He pulled his fair share, although I sensed he probably had another gear or two he was not using. His being 20 something, 5-10 and maybe 2% body fat helped. He also shaved his legs.

Everyone was safely back—bagels and liquids courtesy of a monthly deposit to the shop.

On the drive home we chatted about the course, and the car that jumped the stop sign.

I thanked him for pulling, noting I found myself on his rear wheel more often than not. He allowed as how he spent some time behind me as well.

Moments later we were swinging around into the driveway to the garage at the rear of the house.

I got his equipment bag while he got the bike. Following him into the garage, he stowed the bike and then took the bag. Pausing a moment as he opened it, he looked directly at me and asked, ”Want another dose?”

“Huh?” I said.

“Nipple cream,” he said smiling. “You got pretty sweaty.”

“It’s getting to be that time of year,” I said hesitating. “Uhhh, yeah sure.”

“Lift up,” he says, not giving me the chance to put some on my fingers.

He unzips his jersey all the away so it falls open. A quick swipe from the jar and he is doing his while I watch his fingers circling and circling. I ought to make a quip but words fail me as his fingers make slow circles.

“Now you,” he says as he takes another swipe. He steps in closer than he did earlier, putting his fingers on my ribs and his thumbs on my nipples.

Looking directly at me, I notice how brownish green his eyes are. I stare longer than I should while he continues to rotate his thumbs. The pressure is light, the strokes are smooth due to the lubrication. And then the menthol starts to work.

I suck in a breath.

“Feeling it?” he smiles.

“Yeah,” I say reaching for his upper arms.

“Couple more strokes: let’s get it massaged in good.

Now I’m holding the back of his arms as he massages, our chests almost touching. I’m still looking at his eyes.

A noise distracts me—their patio door opening.

“Ian?” Sharon calls. “You in the garage.”

He smiles and shrugs. I let go of his arms and pull the jersey down, my nipples tingling from the heat.

“Yes ma’am. Mr. Rone was just dropping me off,” he replies.

I step out, wave and exchange the customary and usual morning pleasantries.

Ian walks by me, and with a slight wink, “Next week? Same time?”

“Weather permitting,” I say, waving to Sharon as I climb in the cab.

My nipples were quite warm. The smell of the lotion was fragrant. And I had to adjust my cock as it started to swell.

Charlotte was at her Dad’s. So as I stepped in to the shower, I remembered the old adage, ‘It’s my soap and my shower and I’ll use it as long as I want.’ I was still tingling a bit from the encounter. I could still feel his hands and see those fascinating eyes.

What no one knew was that I had an encounter with another man years ago. It was in Hawaii. I was a Loadmaster on C-141s. We got three days off in Hawaii after several days of flying typhoon relief supplies to Guam. While the pilots chased skirts and the others drank, I was interested in getting out to Makapu’u. I swam in high school and got down to Santa Cruz when I had the time. So here was the chance to try the big time.

I tried chatting with the waitress but she would have none of it, so I went over and spoke to the bartender. One thing led to another, and I met him the next morning. He had fins, sunscreen and a jug of Tequila Sunrise.

It was worth the trip. The rides were crisp and clean, but the breaks were hard and there was a bit of a rip, the last one holding me under for about 45 seconds. So I realized the Fates were looking me over as well as I heard the sounds of the sunshine beating on me. As he was local, he agreed to call it as well.

We went up to the public showers to rinse off. No surprise, they were partially open air. He spread out a towel and got naked. He poured out a glass and tossed it down. He poured another, gave me the jug and the bottle of sun screen. As he lay prone, he said he needed me to do his back.

The guy drove me out and brought juice. But he’s naked. Anyone could walk in. But the beach is deserted. I’m burnt toast if I get a public lewdness charge. But there’s no one around. I could tell him to piss off. But it’s a long, long walk back.

Sensing my hesitation, he tells me not to worry. As long as you’re not naked in public, no one cares. This is not a tourist spot.

So I tossed down the juice and then had another. Fortified, sort of, I do as he asks, and kneaded his low back to loosen it up. I retreated to the shadows and had a third glass. Drifting, I found myself looking at him—toned, tanned, glistening.

About 10 minutes later he rolled over, asked for a refill and tossed me the lotion. He told me to come do his chest and legs. After a moment’s hesitation, he told me he did not want to get his hands oily and for me to just come on and do it. So I did.

He wanted me to start with his quads, so I did. Long smooth strokes like he requested, pushing strong up to the waist and then coming back down slowly. It did not take long before he started to stir and after three more he was fully erect. On the next upward stroke he grabbed my hands and put them on his cock and told me to get him off. He held my hands guiding them up and down. Stunned and in a corner, I complied. In short order, he spasmed five times, shooting ropes up his chest, as he grunted and moaned.

He sat up and scraped some of his cum off his chest and held out to me. He told me to come take a taste. I froze. He started to take a step towards me, when we heard a car on the gravel followed by several voices. The spell was broken. I got under a shower as did he while the new arrivals came in and changed.

The ride back was quiet. As he let me out at the hotel, he told me to meet him at the poolside bar at seven.

My head was swirling from the surf, sun, drinks and jerking a guy off. Three shots of Tequila later, I make it to the room and fall dead asleep.

Later, yelling at myself the entire time to go somewhere else, I ended up at the pool bar close to seven. Someone else was tending, so I sat at a table, rehearsing my ‘thanks for taking me out there, but I’m not that kind of guy’ speech, the world’s most sharp tongued waitress took my order. When she came back, I asked about the bartender. She laughed and said if I was looking to hook-up, it would be awhile since he got caught that afternoon trying to sell a pound of marijuana out of his trunk to some undercover cops.

I proceeded to get seriously shit-faced, thinking about the bullets I dodged—— that last rip, public indecency and distributing. The world’s coldest and least friendly waitress cut me off after a while and got me up to my room. Her name was, and still is, Charlotte.

In less time than it took for me to recount that, I came—harder than I have in a good, long while. Charlotte is indeed a MILF, but you know: age, work, travel. Be that as it may, why was I getting aroused by that fellow? Worse, why did I let him get close enough to do that?

And worse still, why on my Sunday ride did I find myself thinking about those eyes and how the nipple stimulation ran all the way down my spine to my balls. I had to adjust myself three times.

Friday night I confirm with Johnny that Ian is riding. So at 0645, I’m in the driveway as the garage door opens. We shake hands and chat a little as I secure his bike. His equipment bag is on the trunk of Sharon’s car. He unzips his jersey and reaches inside the bag, staring right at me.

Smiling, he says, ”Come closer, lift your jersey.”

I’ve got my hands on the waist band, but I hesitate.

“OK, I’ll come there,” he said taking three steps.

“Lift up, Mr. Rone,” he said. “Don’t fight it, don’t fight me.”

Pushing my hands up so my nipples were exposed, he started the massage. I squirmed, but he pressed more firmly.

“Relax, enjoy the sensation, I know it is making you tingle all over, especially your cock. You got a little excited last Saturday didn’t you? I saw the bulge. I bet you went right to the shower and relieved yourself, right? I bet your stirring right now.”

I stammered, “sssstop; what are you doing; this needsss to ssssstop.”

“There, there,” he whispered. “Look at me, look hard at my eyes. They’re very captivating; just like my thumbs—captivating and controlling. Just stare and listen. You don’t want this to stop; this warm feeling of surrender.”

I fell back against the truck, just staring at him as his thumbs went round and round.

A moment later, another whisper, “You give in, don’t you?’

I sighed, “Yeah.”

And with that, he was pulling down my jersey and zipping up his.

“I’ll drive; you sit back and think about how relaxed you are, how warm your nipples are, how good it is to listen to me.”

Nodding, I got in the passenger’s side and sat back while he talked on the ride to the shop.

The ride went well. I felt rested. And sitting behind him watching his graceful, lithe body power along and how his ass swayed as he pumped up the hills distracted me from the effort of keeping up.

He drove back to the house as well, while I relaxed as he talked about the ride. It seems he liked how I climbed the hills as well.

As he suggested, I stood by the truck while he unloaded. As he put the salve on his thumbs, he gestured for me to raise my jersey. I did so without hesitation.

“Thank you, Mr. Rone,” he murmured, his face about two inches from mine. “Isn’t it so much easier when you don’t resist me?

I nodded slightly, lowering my eyes in submission.

“No, no,” he insisted. “Keep looking at me, hard at me and feeling my thumbs stir your heat.”

I reached inside my shorts to free Willy.

“That’s right, feel the heat, feel it rise,” he moved closer. And then a light brush of my lips. I didn’t flinch but pursed them instead. He responded with a firm full kiss. And followed that with his tongue which I took gladly and as deeply as I could. He began to thrust, when a sudden noise made us pull back. His Mother as before, calling out to him from the patio. He answered as he straightened my jersey.

He walked me to the truck, caressing my erection as I got in. I was almost full, fighting the competing emotions of a sexual rise and the panic of how to get it down. I texted Charlotte I was getting gas and did she want anything. A request for a fountain Coke bought me some more time.

I didn’t need nearly as much time as last week to make myself cum. Curiously, as I calmed down from whatever fire he stoked after cumming, the memory of the encounter faded.

And so Sunday this time was a normal hard ride.

The next three Saturdays followed the same pattern as he persuaded me to become more compliant and submissive.

Our third Saturday had me kissing him fully as his hands moved from my nipples to caressing my cock. As before, he drove as I sat and listened to him. On return, he only stroked my cock and then reached down with his finger coating it with my pre-cum. I licked it clean.

Our fourth Saturday had him making me lick the pre-cum both times. Driving back to the house, I was hoping Charlotte was home so the overwhelming compulsion to eat my own cum would subside. She wasn’t; so I did. And then sent him a text. Where the compulsion came from and why I texted him was a mystery.

Our fifth Saturday I stroked his cock and then licked his pre-cum off my finger. Again the coast was clear at home, and I sent him a text confirming I had done as he required, this time sucking on my thumb as I masturbated stopping only to catch my cum as I ejaculated.

Saturday number six, I was breathing sort of heavy and stirring as I pulled up. Johnny and Sharon were packing their car. They were headed up the mountains for the weekend, so Ian and I loaded up without what had become in essence foreplay.

As we drove out, Ian said, “The house will empty when we get back, so plan on staying a little longer.

For some reason, I was expecting the command.

“Yes sir,” I said.

“Very good,” he said as he placed his hand on my thigh and then my cock.

During the ride, I could not keep my eyes off his ass when he was pulling, even more so on the hills when his ass moved from side to side. As difficult as it was under the circumstance, I felt myself starting to stir each time we went up a hill.

And then on the drive home, when he put his hand on my crotch, I was fully erect.

As we went to unload, I was trembling. My ears were buzzing as was my tongue.

When we finished I walked around and opened the door. This had gone too far; I needed to leave.

“Mr. Rone?” he said as he came around the hood. “The house is empty and I’m sure Mrs. Rone has barely started her tennis match. Close the door, and come inside. Now.”

I hesitated, my hands starting to tremble more.

“Now, come here now, you can’t resist me, don’t even try.”

He was looking right into my eyes. Another part of me closed the door and walked into the house as he held open the door. Stepping inside, his hand was on my shoulder turning me around as he closed the door. I kept looking at him as he unzipped my jersey and pulled it off my shoulders, dropping it on the floor.

I drew a sharp breath as it fell down my back, causing me to shiver.

“That’s right,” he purred. “You know what’s coming don’t you. All our conversations during the trips to the shop. You being so pliable and open to suggestion, allowing me to remove any resistance to my suggestions.”

His hands were stroking in parallel from my neck to my breasts to my cock and then back up. I leaned back against the door, raising my neck and arching my back with each stroke. And getting more and more firm with each caress.

“This has been such an easy seduction. When you let me touch your nipples the first time and did not resist, I knew there was a chance. And then in one of your many trances when you told me about the guy you jerked off in Hawaii, I knew there was a latent lust (he kissed my neck), an urge long suppressed (he kissed the other side), a pliable, suggestible thrall ( his lips were millimeters from mine, his breath so hot) that I could entrance and seduce.”

With that his tongue began caressing my lips and then slowly penetrating deeper and deeper.

“Take it, bring me in as deep as you can,” his voice more demanding now.

I opened up and wrapped my lips around his tongue, sucking it in as he thrust deeper and deeper. My hands stroking from his ass up to his neck, pausing only to adjust my swelling cock inside then ow too constricting bike shorts.

As time stopped, our panting increased as we broke for air every few strokes.

After two or three breaks, he put both hands on my shoulders and pushed me back, again staring hard in my eyes.

“You did not hesitate, did you?” he asked. “You responded as directed without hesitation, didn’t you?”

I could feel the flush rising. “Yes,” I whispered, not looking away. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. But I didn’t want to. I was trapped and I knew it.

“You were so easy to entrance, so easy to capture,” he said firmly. “Whatever fire that guy awakened in you in Hawaii has smoldered a long, long time. And you had no clue, did you? Happily married to the best MILF on the block, father, VP, respected, admired but all the time carrying a secret yearning to suck a guy off. And every suggestion and direction I gave you followed. Wasn’t it such a delicious thrill knowing you were controlled by me? Knowing with each command you followed, you became my slut?”

I was trembling, my legs were starting to give way.

His hands were now pushing me down.

“Kneel and pull my shorts down,” he commanded. He stepped out of them as I did.

And now his cock is in front of me. And my hands are trembling as I reach for it.

“Do you remember my instructions?” he asked as he lifted me back up before I take a firm grasp.

I nodded.

“Very good, but let’s review: kiss the head lightly and then circle it a few times; then open slightly and go over the head, pull back slowly, circle with your tongue then go down a little further, pull back slowly to the top, repeat and then go down a little further. Keep repeating until I’m all the way in. Then fuck me until I cum.”

I nodded again.

He took my hand and grabbing a dish towel off the kitchen counter, led me to the den where he placed the towel and sat back in a chair, holding my hands and pulling me again to me knees.

“Let’s see if all my work and patience pays off”, he said with a slight chuckle. “Begin, slut.”

I took his cock in my left hand and used my right to spread his legs so I could get closer.

And then I began. Without hesitation. My only thought was the cycle of how he wanted it done. A kiss, a swirl or two, wrap my lips around the head and pull back. The pre-cum smearing on my lips. Again, a little further down. And again, an inch or so down and slowly back up.

Moaning and grunting, he rasped, “Yeah, just like that, smooth and seductive.”

Before long I took him all the way to the far back of my mouth. He was big, but not gagging big. It was a comfortable fit.

A few more long strokes, and he was starting to writhe.

With a grunt he grabbed my right hand and put it under his ass and then grabbed my head.

“Fuck me now—faster—firmer,” he grunted.

On instinct, I maneuvered my right long finger to his anus and pressed lightly, earning a sharp gasp for my efforts. Taking firm hold of his cock with my left, I slowly increased the speed, sucking him as far in as I could.

I could feel his tremors vibrate on my hands. Likewise I could feel my own erection trying to push its way up my bike shorts. The lycra’s resistance against the head made me shiver as did the sensation of his cock rubbing across the roof of my mouth.

He was now starting to rock with me, trying to get deeper in my mouth. I was caressing the tip for as long as I could on every plunge. I could even feel my prostate stirring.

Without warning, he suddenly grabbed my head, holding it all the way down, trembling and bucking. A split-second pause, and then he let loose.

Backstrokers will tell you that it is akin to waterboarding; you’re trying to breath as the water rushes over your face. So when his cum started hitting, it was breath through the nose and swallow it in time to the surges.

What I did not expect was that I would cum in my shorts as the same time. It took everything I had to keep draining him and enjoy my release. He gave one more little thrust and then sunk back. I followed him as he slumped keeping him inside until he landed. Then I slowly withdrew.

He gasped, “Marvelous, just fucking marvelous; what a velvet mouth.”

I settled back on the floor, feeling my cum cool.

I looked up at him for a moment trying to process what had happened.

A deep breath and a couple of swallows to clear my mouth, followed by with as much a growl as I could muster, “What did you do to me?” I would have gotten up but 48 miles and an orgasm left me with jelly legs.

He smiled, “Nothing you did not want me to do.”

“I’m not gay”, I snapped.

“Of course not, but you are flexible in that regard it seems. So call it hypnosis, seduction, persuasion—how about a Jedi Mind Trick?”

Getting my knees under me, “Well, whatever the fuck it is, turn it off—or—,”

“Or what?” he smirked.

“Or I’ll make you,” I shot back.

“Don’t think so Mr. Rone—SUBMIT!” His voice was low and controlled.

I rocked forward on my arms, but I could not push up.

“LOOK AT ME—SUBMIT—SUBMIT TO ME! STOP WHERE YOU ARE AND OBEY”

I made it up to my knees. As I stared at him, the words churned around in my head. A heaviness came over me, like being in a feather bed with a heavy comforter holding me down. I was swaying slightly, waiting on him. Ready to obey.

“Stick your hand inside your shorts and scoop up any cum you can and lick it off your fingers. Keep doing it until there is nothing more to get,” he ordered.

I did. My load is only a couple of teaspoons these days, so I got what I could in two swipes.

“Now listen to me. If I wanted, I could convince you to walk back to your house naked—it’s just a simple matter of persuasion. And you cannot resist me—that should be clear. Nod if it is,” he said.

I nodded.

“Fine. Now, all I have done is tap a latent fetish of yours—submitting to a man. If you had not submitted to me that first time in the garage when I massaged your nipples, we wouldn’t be here, and I would have missed out on a really inspired blow job. As well as where I’m going to take you the rest of the summer,” he explained.

I flinched.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been chasing that really tight ass of yours for the last month, and I bet it is as luscious as your mouth.

I shivered.

“Yeah,” he repeated. “A quiver of anticipation I see. Nice. Anyway, we’ll have to wait for the folks’ next trip; I think they’re going for a week the first of August. So I’ll work on keeping you under control and stimulated so when the time comes, you’re begging me for it.”

I got to my feet, I could only think of one thing. “I’ve got to wash the cum out of my pants,” I said as I walked to the kitchen.

Walking back to the door, I was checking myself to make sure any evidence was removed. He was waiting there and handed me my jersey. Before I zipped it up, he got his thumbs on my nipples and his hand firmly against my lats.

“Look at me,” his voice was firm. “You cannot resist, you cannot break free, you will submit to and obey me for as long as I want.”

“Yeah, yeah, resistance is futile; I hear you Locutus,” I shot back.

He put his hands on the top of my shoulders and pushed. “Kneel,” he ordered. “Look at me and kneel.”

A chill ran through me. Shivering , I slowly dropped.

With one hand, he pulled out his dick. “Make it hard,” his voice was ice cold.

Still looking up I placed him in my mouth and started to bob.

“Last time, Mr. Rone. In a moment or so I could cum all over your face and hair and send you home that way. I could leave with a suggestion that would have you expose yourself next Friday as Esparza’s. The sooner you accept that I have captured you, the easier it will be. You have a very fuckable mouth and I bet an even more fuckable ass. And being a slut can be quite pleasurable if you accept your role. And you Sir, are my submissive slut. Do you UNDERSTAND me?”

I nodded still transfixed by his eyes.

He was stiffening, but then he said, “Enough, go home.”

The rest of the day, and then on the Sunday ride and then on the flight to Phoenix, my mind was churning. I could not tell anyone—not anyone. And from time to time as I relived his orgasm, I began to get hard. His cock in my mouth was so sensual and arousing. And thinking of getting fucked made my ass tingle. It was damn feedback loop of guilt followed by arousal followed by guilt followed by just how good it felt to be used.

Then, Tuesday afternoon late, I was packing up my things to go back to the hotel when a text came in. It was from Ian:

Mr Rone—I have to go back to DC early to finish a grant application.

Looks like my plans for you this summer will have to wait

But I want you to stay in practice

So from time to time you will SUBMIT and OBEY me

I know you are in PHX.

When you are back at the hotel, you will find out where the gay bars are

On Thursday, you will go to one, pick up a guy, make him cum and send me a photo

My control over you is not limited by distance, in fact you are now stirring aren’t you.

I was damn it; I was. Shaking, I replied:

Yes

A moment later

Admit I control you and that you will do as you are told.

Trembling even more somehow I typed:

You do; I will

So Thursday arrives and somehow I get through the day. I shrug off dinner plans pleading work still to be done.

Back to the hotel to get out of the suit, then $20 to the Valet and a cab ride later, I’m sitting at the bar.

The bartender acknowledges me and my newness. He asks what I want.

“Some Oban neat, if you have it,” I say reaching for my wallet. Pulling out a $20, I then say, “And a safe opportunity.”

He nods knowingly, “I can do both, sure.”

I then text Ian that I’m obeying.

The little shit texts me a Thumbs-Up.

20 minutes or so later, the bartender points out a fellow on a hi-top and puts a drink in front me. “An introduction,” he smiles.

Deep breath, open one more button on my shirt, and head towards him. I lick my lips lightly as I approach and extend the drink. He looks, pauses, and pulls out a chair.

Ian’s voice runs through my head, “Submit, Obey.”

And so I do.